by Nora Jay

“Saudi Arabia to notify women of divorce by text message:
New law aims to stop men from ending marriages without telling their wives”
—The Guardian

Ex-dear, I cannot say how vexed
And mortified I am
At finding that my recent text
Was sorted into spam—

So that, ex-love, you did not learn
What courts have since endorsed:
That you have served your spousal turn,
And now you are divorced.

by Julia Griffin

“50-year-old French author says women over 50 ‘too old’ to love”
—The Independent

Madame, ma vieille:
Please go away.
You’re fifty, or above;
And thus, grand-mère,
You’ve no prière:
You’re just too old to love.

You’re lined, you’re feeble,
You’re invisible,
So off, chère chauve, please shove:
Your peau is sèche,
You’ve sagging flesh:
You’re just too old to love.

Ma vieille Madame,
How old I am
It’s pointless thinking of:
The truth, en somme,
Is: I’m un homme;
You’re just too old to love.

by Orel Protopopescu

Trump stormed out of a meeting
with Pelosi and Chuck Schumer.
He’d staged this fleeting fit of pique,
according to a rumor.

In truth, his phantom tantrum
was as phony as his tan,
as fake as the emergency
he made because he can.

His disorder on the border?
That’s a clinically clear sign
that Hocus POTUS, all pretense,
in truth is borderline.

by Michael Calvert

It’s very strange, since Lord knows, I am no fan of award shows,
But I thought I’d give the Golden Globes a whirl—
Then I saw a dark-haired hottie, there among the glitterati,
Now I’m in love with Fiji Water Girl.

Her eyes and raven tresses far outshone their fancy dresses
Her Mona Lisa smile was sweet and calm.
No starlet she—no fame—indeed, nobody knew her name—
Mysterious mistress of the photobomb.

How gladly I’d pursue her, fall at her feet and woo her,
And—dare I dream it—we could run away—
To some island out of reach, where upon a tropic beach,
She’d serve me Fiji Water on a tray.

I’d be drunker than on gin with my pretty Gunga Din
To bring me water that would taste like wine—
I’d be happy— no, elated! (not to mention well-hydrated),
If only Fiji Water Girl were mine!

by Julia Griffin

“The US secretary of state, Mike Pompeo, has vowed the US and its allies will “expel every last Iranian boot” from Syria as he sought to reassure Middle Eastern nations it was not withdrawing from the region despite Donald Trump’s call for troops to return home.”—The Guardian

When every last Iranian boot
From Syria is well en route,
Then, not before, will up and go
The last American heel and toe.
But while Iranian footprints smear
The streets of Homs and Dayr Hafir,
There’s no GI with soul to damn
Who’d be so callous as to scram.